A Plan for the Dark Ages
by Mingsmommy
Summary: Post 5x01, Emily and Dave discuss plans for the future. Semi-fluff.


Spoilers through 5x01, _Nameless, Faceless_

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

A/N: So, losingntrnslatn told me I taunt people into writing fluff but then I never write it. Well, I tried, but these characters don't like to be fluffy. So, this is semi-fluff. smacky30 betaed but I messed with it afterwards so, all mistakes are mine and she is always awesome.

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_We are still in the Dark Ages. The Dark Ages — they haven't ended yet._

---Kurt Vonnegut, _Deadeye Dick_

"It's me."

Rossi calls up the stairs as soon as he comes through the door. Emily isn't expecting him home tonight, and he isn't fond of the notion of being mistaken for an intruder by an exhausted, emotionally wrung out Prentiss. An exhausted, emotionally wrung out Prentiss who also keeps her gun by the bed.

There's a muffled reply from the vicinity of the master bedroom and he suddenly wants nothing more than to be in his own bed wrapped around that exhausted, emotionally wrung out woman because he's every bit as exhausted, every bit as wrung out as she is, and he wants to be still and quiet with his skin touching hers. So, he double checks the locks and puts the chain on the door and heads up the stairs.

Emily's looking into his face before he even crosses the threshold into the bedroom and he knows she's been staring at the doorway since he first called out to her. She should be asleep but he's not surprised to find her leaning against the headboard, the light from the lamp on the bedside table gently touching her hair, her index finger holding her place in the book that rests in her lap. She's dressed in one of his tee shirts and her face is scrubbed clean and if it weren't for the dark circles under her eyes and the weary downturn of her mouth, she'd look about fourteen.

"Hey," he says leaning across his side of the bed, bracing his knuckles against the mattress and kissing her. He'd meant for it to be a quick peck, but she meets him more than half way, meets him with a press of lips, a little bit of pressure, offering and seeking comfort with a little bit of heat. She tastes like mint and he knows she used his toothpaste rather than the cinnamon flavor she keeps in her go bag and he smiles tiredly against her mouth.

"Hey," she answers when he breaks the kiss, her breath ghosting across his cheek as he rests his forehead against hers. The scent of her vanilla shower gel rises up from her warm skin and her hair is still slightly damp. It's such a simple pleasure, knowing her nightly routine without having been here to see it; such a sweet and unpretentious confirmation that life does go on no matter what horrors they face, professionally or personally.

"I thought you were staying at the hospital tonight." Her voice is quiet but a little rough around the edges with fatigue and stress.

Pulling away, he grunts a little when he straightens. He sheds his jacket and begins unbuttoning his shirt. "Yeah, but I asked Hotch if he minded if I came home to get you pregnant. He was fine with it."

He waits to look up until he's peeling off his shirt and the round eyed, open mouthed look on Prentiss's face makes him wish for a camera. That might be the plan, but it's a testament to how exhausted she is that she considered for even a nanosecond that he would share that with anyone, especially today of all days.

"Um," she shakes her head as if to clear it, and a slow, tired quirk of her lips lets him know she's caught up with him. "Good to know you're not afraid to have the conversation, but there will be no baby making tonight. I am too damn tired."

"Thank god, because I think you might get mad at me if I fall asleep in the middle of such a momentous occasion."

There had been a pregnancy scare in late winter thanks to a broken condom and a late cycle due to some stress. When her period started they were both relieved. But the thought of a baby, a family, had been introduced and it didn't take long before they were having careful conversations that moved into serious consideration and finally, agreement. They weren't actively trying, _yet_, but she'd gone off the pill six weeks before and they weren't using condoms any more. The plan was to give it six months to happen on its own, then start…whatever it was a couple of their respective ages did to increase their chances at conception. He's trying not to worry too much that he's too old to be a father in both the literal and figurative sense. But he has moments when he's afraid he won't be able to father her child and if he is able to, he'll suck at the actual parenting part of being a father.

"So, who's with Hotch?" Emily's voice brings him out of his head and he's grateful.

"His brother just got in from New York and Aaron sent me home. After he threatened to fire JJ for calling Sean and have me removed from the team for letting her." Rossi drops his shirt in the hamper. "He only shut up after Sean told him Haley made the call." Sitting on the edge of the bed he begins removing his shoes and socks. "Morgan's camped out in Reid's room and JJ's gone home to Will and Henry." He hears the rustle of sheets behind him and turns to look over his shoulder as she hugs her knees, her battered copy of _Deadeye Dick_ still clutched in hand. Lately the only books she's been reading are about fertility and conception, so he recognizes the return to Vonnegut tonight as a need for comfort, seeking the familiar.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" Her cheek is pillowed on her knee and her eyes are sad.

Dave sighs. "I think he will. Eventually." He shrugs, attempting nonchalance, although he's sure it looks more dubious than detached. "The real trick will be getting him through the 'eventually' without doing more harm."

"Mmmm," she agrees and there is a long, heavy pause between them until she lets out a small breath and strokes her hand down his bare arm. "I'm glad you're home."

Twisting on the bed at a slightly awkward angle, he uses his index finger to push a wisp of hair out of her eyes. "Me, too."

Smiling softly, she moves her head to kiss his wrist. "Come to bed, Dave."

He stretches to give her a quick peck on the cheek. "Back in a minute." It's actually an effort to haul himself off the mattress, but if she sees it she doesn't say anything. He's noticed a significant decrease in her teasing about his age since he voiced his doubts about being too old to father a child. Remembering her incredulous look when she said "Wanna tell me why we've been using not one, but two, methods of birth control if you think you're so ancient you don't have any live sperm?" makes him shake his head. She's been pretty clear that she doesn't just want to have a kid, but for some reason buried in that mysterious brain of hers, she wants to have a kid _with him_. If they don't conceive, they'll adopt, she'd told him with an airy assurance that both surprised and gratified him.

Loading his toothbrush with the same mint paste he'd tasted on Emily, he tries not to think too much about how Hotch must feel today. He knows that contemplating parenthood is not the same as actually having a child, but he is filled with empathy for the man and for the father who has to let go of his son, even if it's only until they get Foyet. And they will get him, there's nothing on earth that's going to stop Dave and the rest of them from making sure George Foyet is put _under_ a jail somewhere.

But first, they all need some…no, _a lot _of sleep. Dave dons pajama bottoms and smooths a hand over his beard. The time at the Turner's farm had already taken a toll and after today, well, they were all running on reserves none of them knew they had.

Switching off the bathroom light, he returns to the bedroom. Emily has turned her bedside lamp off and turned his on. The covers on his side of the bed have been drawn back and she is curled on her side, waiting for him, hair fanned across the pillow, eyes heavy. He turns off the lamp and slides into bed gratefully, snakes an arm under her body and pulls her against him, relishing her warmth and the feel of her against him. Pressing a kiss to her hair, he hugs her a little closer, so glad they have each other here in the dark and quiet.

They settle against each other, the only sound the quiet rhythm of both their breaths. He knows she's not asleep, he can practically feel her thinking so he's not really surprised when her voice splits the darkness. "Dave," there is such a note of unutterable weariness in her tone that it hurts him, "are we crazy for even thinking we can do this?"

He doesn't have to ask what she's talking about. It's not unusual, he supposes, given their line of work, seeing the darkest things mankind can do, that one or the other of them might have doubts about bringing a child into the world. But Emily, with her stellar abilities at compartmentalization, had professed early on that knowing the worst humanity had to offer somehow made it even more important to her to bring a child of love into the world.

Dave wonders if he would have heard that same trembling question if it had been _just _ the Turners, or if Foyet hadn't gotten to Hotch until a month from now. Months of lobbying, debating, negotiating and outright fighting for the one thing she wants more than anything and the last few days have made her doubt their decision, made her doubt herself. Dave suddenly finds himself righteously furious.

"No, Emily, we're not crazy. _Foyet _ is crazy. _Mason Turner_ was crazy." He concentrates, making a monumental effort to not sound quite so livid. "They're both sick, twisted, demented fucks." Blowing out a breath, he shifts a little, trying to see her face in the dark, in the faint glow from the moonlight stealing through the windows. "We're not crazy for wanting what's normal, what's right. A baby, a family together. That's normal. What's crazy is thinking normal is crazy."

She lets out a shaky laugh and presses a kiss to his jaw.

He kisses the top of her head, letting his lips linger as she nestles against him.

His anger is gone just as suddenly as it arrived, but he is more firm in his resolve to hunt Foyet down like the dog he is.

Her breath gusts across his chest as she speaks. "You're going to be a great dad."

"And you're going to be a wonderful mom." He's smiling slightly, because he knows what's coming.

"Hmmm. Tell me the plan." Her voice is coated in sleep and she sounds almost childlike.

"You've heard it a hundred times. Is this your bedtime story? Are you sure you're old enough to be a parent?"

"Dave," she whines at him and he's not sure how much is acting.

"Okay, okay. Once upon a time…" he lets out an "oof" when she pokes him in the stomach. "Stop with the abuse."

She snorts. "Tell me the plan."

Laughing, he pulls her a little closer. "Well, the first part is my favorite part; we'll be having lots and lots of sex."

He feels her smile against him. "We do that anyway."

"Can never do that too much. Then we find out you're pregnant. You'll need to tell Hotch right away, then the rest of the team when you're comfortable with it. And they'll all be concerned. Morgan will probably try to talk to you about having a talk with the low life scum that knocked you up and walked out on you." Her laugh makes him smile. "But you'll remain stoic and work through the entire time. You'll sail through all the gossip and speculation and no one will figure it out even when I have a meeting out of the office every time you have a doctor's appointment. Even though you're living here, you'll need to keep your place until we can live together officially. The day you take maternity leave, I'll announce my second retirement. After that, it'll just be a lot of fun watching them put the pieces together, seeing them at the hospital, inviting them to the christening. You'll go back to work and I will be a consultant and the world's best stay at home dad. And we'll live happily ever after."

"I like the plan."

Kissing her again, he wraps her a little tighter in his arms. "Me, too."

They're quiet, then, relaxing against each other until she speaks softly in the dark. "I love you." They don't say the words often and he doesn't know why it's so difficult for both of them to express it when they both feel it so much. He sincerely hopes they get better at saying it before there's a baby.

Still, he makes a doubtful sound. "Nah. You just want me for my sperm."

He can't see her face, but he can almost hear the eye roll. "And your money."

Laughing, he relaxes. "And my money." She yawns hugely against him and he smooths a hand down her back. "Go to sleep, Emily."

"You, too, Dave. Sweet dreams."

He wants to say that being with her, planning this life, loving her and having her love him in return is sweeter than any dream he's ever had, but he's not that guy. All the things they're so bad at saying though pale in comparison to how good they are at loving each other.

Her breath is steady and even and he knows she's asleep. He doesn't fight his own exhaustion any more. He simply tightens his arm around her and follows her into sleep.

_A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved. _

----Kurt Vonnegut, _Sirens of Titan_


End file.
